Armageddon by James Patterson, Chris Grabenstein Read Free Book Online Page B

Agent Judge consulted a handheld computer that was feeding him real-time updates from the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s former headquarters in downtown D.C. I say “former” because the J. Edgar Hoover Building, a massive structure made out of raw concrete poured over steel beams, was now a pile of chunky gray gravel on Pennsylvania Avenue, just a few blocks east of what used to be the White House.
    “My guys on the streets report seeing no incoming missiles, no blasts from orbiting spacecraft, nothing,” said Agent Judge.
    “No way,” said Dana. “That’s impossible.”
    “He must’ve used stealth weaponry of some sort,” said Willy, our intergalactic arms expert.
    That’s when I remembered the laser-beam blasts Number 2 used to throw the hench-lackeys who had dared to laugh during his underground pep rally.
    “I saw Number 2 take out a couple of his goons back in that cavern just by glaring at them. His eyes are like high-energy laser beams.”
    Maybe when he took down the class clowns, he had his eyeballs set on Stun like they used to do on
Star Trek
. Then, once he arrived in Washington, he’d flicked his high beams up to Total Devastation.
    “Have we heard anything about casualties?” I asked Agent Judge.
    “Affirmative. There aren’t any.”
    “
What?
That’s impossible. I just saw—”
    “So far, no one’s been killed or injured. Number 2 is destroying the entire city, but not the citizens.”
    “So,” said Willy, “whatever he’s using, it’s the complete opposite of a neutron bomb. Instead of killing all the people and saving the infrastructure, he’s wiping out the structures while sparing the civilians.”
    “This makes no sense,” I mumbled. “None of it.”
    “There’s only one way for us to figure out what’s really going on,” said Mel. “We need to be in D.C. Now!”
    “Us?” said Dana, arching an eyebrow. “We?”
    “What? You don’t seriously think I’m going to hang here while the country I love is under attack?”
    “Now, Mel,” said Agent Judge, “we’ve talked about this before. It isn’t safe out there.”
    “Dad!” Mel exclaimed, gesturing at the TV screen. “I don’t think
any
place on Earth is safe right now.”
    “You can’t come,” I said to Mel. “I’ve made a vow to never risk human life when dealing with alien outlaws on Terra Firma.”
    “Really?” said Mel with a crooked smile. “Well, Daniel, I’ve made a vow, too: to never be a wimp. So come on. Like you said, we need to be in D.C.!”

Chapter 22
    IT WAS DUSK when we finally rolled into the Virginia suburbs just west of the capital.
    My dad had done an amazingly awesome job outfitting the Alien Tracker Vehicle for the FBI. Joe was practically drooling as he fiddled with all the sensor knobs and sliders arrayed across the control panel in the back of the sleek, aerodynamic truck. The van’s speedometer topped out at 288 mph (my dad had obviously tweaked out the engine, too), which, of course, was the equivalent to 250 knots, the maximum speed an aircraft can fly below 10,000 feet.
    Yep. I wouldn’t be surprised if pretty soon Joe found a toggle switch that deployed wings on both sides of the titanium truck.
    “Do we have weapons?” asked Agent Judge, who was up front, riding shotgun, while one of his top IOU guys manned the wheel and piloted the vehicle through the smoldering ruins of Arlington, Virginia.
    “Definitely,” said Joe. “Blaster cannons, stun guns, and an extremely lethal rotating rocket launcher up on the roof.”
    “But we won’t use any of the weapons unless we absolutely, positively have to, right, Daniel?” said Emma, who, of course, was wearing her Birkenstocks and GIVE PEACE A CHANCE T-shirt.
    “Of course we won’t use any weapons,” sniped Dana. “We’ll just very politely ask these scorpion-tailed locust scuzzballs to put everything back the way they found it.”
    “That won’t work,” fumed Willy, who was standing up, bracing himself